■\*1 



- 



Baccalaureate Sermon 



Oration and Poem. 



CLASS OF 1874. 




CAMBRIDGE: 

PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

1874. 



-M 



Baccalaureate Sermon 



AND 



Oration and Poem. 



CLASS OF 1874. 



Hs^vs^ uvx^e^'A^ . Cl^ss o-f 1%"?^ 




CAMBRIDGE: 

PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

1S74. 



Class Committee, 



EDWARD WARREN CATE. 
FRANCIS CHILD FAULKNER. 
ARTHUR LEWIS GOODRICH. 



Class Secretary. 
GEORGE PARTRIDGE SANGER, Jr. 






J 



HEBREW, GREEK, AND LATIN. 



A SERMON 

PREACHED IN THE CHAPEL OF HARVARD COLLEGE TO THE 

GRADUATING CLASS OF 1874, 

BY 

ANDREW P. PEABODY. 



SERMON. 



" Hebrew, Greek, and Latin." — John xix. 20. 

THE inscription over the cross was written in these languages, 
as representing the three cosmopolitan nationalities of the 
time, — the Jews, most numerous, indeed, in their own metropolis, 
yet swarming everywhere ; the Greeks, their states conquered 
and dismembered, themselves — whether as slaves or adventurers 

— carrying their arts, humanities, and vices through the whole 
extent of Southern Europe and Western Asia ; the Romans, in 
civil and military occupancy of all important posts in the civilized 
world. These languages w T ere and are typical of the nations that 
employed them, — emblematic of their several styles of culture: 
the Hebrew, though harsh, sonorous ; though rude, grand ; though 
meagre, lending fit utterance for the loftiest thought and feeling ; 

— the Greek, the counterpart to the ear of the fairest scenes on 
which human eye has ever rested ; — the Latin, terse, rigid, and 
intense, with no loose joints or feeble idioms. Thus we have the 
Hebrew people pre-eminently religious ; even when idolatrous, 
in sad earnest ; and, except in those early episodes of false wor- 
ship, loyal to the God of their fathers as no other nation has ever 
been ; — the Greeks, in art, taste, and elegant culture unequalled 
in their own time, unsurpassed in all time ; — the Romans, until 
foreign grafts outgrew the native stock, law-giving, because law- 
abiding ; conquerors, because self-mastered ; kingly, because loyal. 

Most fittingly were these languages united over the cross ; for 
the cultures which they represent are blended and unified in the 
character formed under the shadow, or rather in the guiding light, 



of the cross. I have named them for my text, as indicating the 
scholar's true aim and culture. 

I. The Hebrew leads, and must lead. Religion must be queen, 
or she has no place. She must rule the house, or leave it. In a 
merely intellectual aspect, it is no small loss that he sustains who 
neglects the records of our religion ; for in the Scriptures, if noth- 
ing else, we have the exhaustless repository of great thoughts, the 
feeder of lofty imaginings, the mine where one always unearths 
more than he seeks, — gold when he digs for silver, — rubies, 
emeralds, and diamonds when he looks for gold. What surpassing 
genius has the Sacred Word nourished and fructified ! Bunyan's 
prose-epic of Pilgrim's Progress — in some aspects the greatest 
work in our language, probably more read, oftener re-perused, 
and by a larger range of ages and conditions, than any book but 
the Bible — draws from the Bible all its forms and colors, its 
imagery, its sweetness, its strength. Nor do we less feel the pre- 
eminence of our sacred source of inspiration, when Milton, in the 
only other English epic worthy of the name, blends from his 
affluent learning an untold wealth of classic lore with Christian 
thought and imagery, only to show how thin and feeble is the 
flow of Castalia and Helicon compared with the rush and swell 
of the waters of Zion. 

But the scholar needs more than the literature of the Bible. 
He has his providential mission as exemplar, instructor, guide of 
the less privileged. His culture, for good or for evil, raises him 
above his fellows. His light, whether with baleful or benignant 
ray, is set where it cannot be hidden. His tone of thought and 
feeling is diffused farther than he can trace. In many of our 
New England villages, and in special circles even in our large 
cities, you will see the foremost mind reproduced on every hand, 
its opinions unconsciously imbibed, its moral sympathies and pro- 
clivities spontaneously imitated, its tastes made dominant. Such 
a position many of you, my friends, will hold. Are you fit for it, 
if you lack God's best gifts ? If religion be not a name, but a 
divine and eternal reality, can you fill your due place in society 
without its consecration and its power? 

Our age demands more in this direction than was ever before 
required of leading minds. There is an intense and pervading 
secularism. .We can account for it, indeed ; but it none the less 



needs to be counteracted and overcome. It is owing, no doubt, 
to the vast material progress of our time, to steam and telegraph, 
to the awakening from their age-long slumber, and harnessing to 
human industries, of giant world-forces. The living spirit in the 
wheels, the living, shaping spirit of God in the works of man, is 
ignored by the multitude, and craves to be recognized, enthroned, 
adored. It is for the master-minds of the age to redeem our cul- 
minating civilization from the godlessness which will be its ruin, to 
make men feel the power of a higher life than that which lives 
by bread alone, to convert the multitudinous clangor of the world's 
industry into a sublime rhythm of praise to the All-Inspirer and 
All-Giver. We want Christians, not only as professional teach- 
ers of religion, but even more, in the walks of active service, — 
men who shall show a working piety ; who shall be thoroughly in 
the world, yet as thoroughly above the world ; who shall demon- 
strate the possibility of the life of God in all the ways of man ; 
who shall reverse the sacrilege of the Jewish hucksters, and make 
even the house of merchandise our Father's house. 

Our age has, also, strong sceptical tendencies ; due, I believe, 
not, as it is often alleged, to its science, but to its materialistic 
habit of thought and feeling, and thence imported into science, 
whose true spirit is that of reverential awe before the realm of 
the yet unknown, which only grows as knowledge grows, and 
expands as the area covered by man's research enlarges. There 
is nothing in the ascertained truths of science which militates 
against the Christianity of Christ and his Gospel ; nor yet, as seems 
to me, is there necessarily an anti-Christian element in prevailing 
theories that have not grown, and perhaps may never grow, into 
science ; though, if there were, these theories would have no 
validity against a religion which has its double witness in im- 
pregnable historical testimony, and in the undeniable conscious- 
ness and experience of a multitude of believing souls that no man 
can number. Yet there is scepticism in the air. There are vague 
doubts afloat. There are new departments of inquiry and inves- 
tigation that still lack and crave Christian baptism. There are 
fundamental questions at the basis of all belief and knowledge, 
with which the mind of the coming generation must wrestle. To 
such work Christian scholars alone are competent. The pulpit 
can no longer keep to the old paths. Respectable ignorance and 



8 



the humdrum repetition of antiquated formulas will do more 
toward unsettling than toward establishing faith. There are 
needed for the sacred office skilled and trained minds, that shall 
add to their faith knowledge, — that shall see all round and through 
falsities and fallacies, — hospitable minds, too, that are not afraid 
to entertain strangers, and can recognize in them angels, if angels 
they be. 

But, if Christianity is to be defended, it cannot be solely or 
chiefly by professional champions. The work must be fully 
shared by educated minds in every sphere of life. The faith of 
the coming age is contingent on their attitude. The prestige of 
their belief alone can avert infidelity on the part of the many who 
cannot try the spirits for themselves, but always lean on authority. 
Above all, Christianity will have its impregnable defence, its 
irrefutable argument, in the consecrated lives, the exalted Chris- 
tian virtue, the beauty of holiness manifested by those whose 
extended culture gives them commanding influence, and makes 
them the creators of opinion, belief, and character in an ever- 
widening circle. 

My friends, if it be not a mere farce that you are enacting in 
these sacred valedictory rites ; if you mean them and feel them, as 
I know you do, — they have for you a mandate of imperative duty. 
For your own sakes, religion should be the rock-foundation on 
which the fair fabric of your honorable and useful lives shall be 
built. Think not that the corner-stone can be inserted in later 
years, before the winds and rains beat upon the house. They 
will never beat more fiercely than in the next ensuing period of 
your lives, as you enter on your career, under God, artificers and 
arbiters of your own destiny ; and the house on the sand stands 
always at their mercy. Nor is your obligation to society less 
sacred than that to your own souls. Gifts to Christ and the 
Church of saints long since passed on to heaven have been 
lavished on your nurture here. You are heavily in debt to their 
prayers and offerings. You can be worthy of their benefactions 
only by giving your best service to the truth of God and the estab- 
lishment of his reign among men. 

II. The Grecian element of culture next claims our regard, — 
second only to religion in its worth to the individual soul, the 
inseparable ally of religion in the progress of the community and 



the race. The scholar should be a man of taste, of refinement, of 
gentle nurture. There have been prodigies of boorish erudition, of 
immense book-learning with no assthetic training, out of gearing 
with society, rude in manners, coarse in speech, brutal in contro- 
versy, — men whose scholarship, indeed, has towered up into 
undue eminence because there was nothing else of them, as a 
hill may seem a mountain when it rises from an unbroken plain. 
Such men were Bentley and Porson ; and what have they left but 
their names? Possibly the settlement or the more hopeless 
unsettling of some disputed text in an ancient author, or the 
resolution of some supposed fact of Greek or Roman history into 
a myth ; while, so far as their personal influence could go, like 
guardian mastiffs, they warned off aspirants from the height on 
which they stood. Compare with such men Thomas Arnold, 
who had enough of mere learning to give him fame, yet was not 
celebrated for it, because he so won all who knew him by the 
grace and beauty, the fair humanities incarnated in his mien, 
intercourse, and influence ; by the charm he gave to whatever he 
said and did and wrote ; by his genial spirit, with its outgoings in 
every form and way in which he could minister to human happi- 
ness and well-being. His spirit multiplied itself in all directions, 
and is still working in unnumbered minds and hearts, in men of 
the widest diversity of condition, — men whom his learning would 
not have made wiser, nor his talents impressed, nor his vir- 
tues attracted, but for the Hellenistic culture superadded to the 
Hebrew. 

Prime importance should be attached, under this head, to per- 
sonal refinement, not in the superficial sense in which the word 
is currently misused, but to purity, delicacy, gentleness, and grace 
in thought and feeling, and thence in mien and manner. The 
scholar falls below his calling, if he fails to be a Christian gentle- 
man ; and it is only by the traits that belong to this highest style 
of character that his advanced intellectual culture can become 
an intenerating and elevating influence in the society around 
him. 

The scholar should also cultivate his aesthetic capacity by such 
conversance as he may have — if not by direct observation, by 
paintings, models, and engravings — with the fairest monuments 
of ancient and modern art. He should study proportion, sym- 



IO 



metry, and harmony in form and color. He should know the 
beauty that dwells in simplicity. He should learn to abhor shams 
in architecture, ostentatious incongruities in ornament, the substi- 
tution of cost and glitter for fitness and grace, that he may bear 
his part in diffusing purer tastes and a more genuine love of the 
beautiful. I lay stress on this culture, not for its own sake alone, 
but on higher grounds. It was not without reason that Plato 
identified the true, the beautiful, and the good. Coarseness and 
tawdriness are demoralizing. Mean tastes and low pleasures are 
near kindred, and love to dwell in the same house. On the other 
hand, conversance with fair forms and just proportions indicates 
or creates a style of character congenial with all that in soul, 
speech, and life, is lovely and of good report. 

Nearly akin to art-culture are simplicity, ease, and grace in 
written style. The art of expression is too little studied among 
us. We who write are too prone to content ourselves with words 
that will embody and convey our meaning. We forget that there 
is a double passage to be forced by what we write, beyond the 
reader's outer mind, his mere apprehensive faculties, to the in- 
most shrine of reflection, imagination, conviction, feeling, sympa- 
thy. What is rudely, though clearly written makes its way only 
through the outer wall, knocks in vain at the inner, proves without 
convincing, appeals without striking an answering chord, besieges 
the soul without breaching or mining it. The thoughts that 
breathe demand words that burn. The sword of truth that 
pierces to the marrow is not a bowie-knife, but a Damascene 
blade. 

The best culture for style is to be obtained by familiarity with 
the classic models. Were it only for our English, we should 
maintain our familiarity with the ancient tongues. The versatile 
grace of the Greek, the directness and force of the Latin, are 
efficiently welded in our own language, which in its Norman 
elements has an exhaustless wealth of beauty, and, in its incisive 
Anglo-Saxon forms, a vigor, precision, and point unequalled 
among the other modern tongues. 

Be ambitious to write, not much, but well, — and much only if 
it can be written well. Put the best that is in you into whatever 
you utter or print ; and you will most efficiently serve, not only 
your own reputation, but — what is of much greater importance — 



II 



whatever cause you advocate, whatever truth you expound, what- 
ever aim you pursue. Study the art which in its simplicity at 
once conceals and reveals the labor it costs, the elegant diction 
which adorns whatever it clothes, the mellifluous flow of words 
which hides strength in its sweetness, convinces by persuading, 
storms by sapping, conquers without show of arms. 

III. The Latin element, the Roman culture, is pre-eminently 
that of law, order, citizenship, patriotism. Its essence is best 
comprehended in that one word] loyalty, which denotes not, as it 
is often employed to mean, subservience to rulers, but submission 
to impersonal law, — and, if in any sense to men, to them only as 
the representatives and trustees of law. What we need in our 
country more than all else is reverence for law as divine and abso- 
lute. In a republic we bear a double part, as sovereigns and sub- 
jects, as ordaining law and amenable to it, as the sources of the 
power to which we owe profound submission and unreserved 
obedience, — obedience, except in the rare case of an actual con- 
flict with conscience, and then the acceptance of the penalty 
attached to disobedience. 

It is in the separation of these functions that lies our chief 
danger, our besetting sin. There is no tyranny so severe and so 
galling as republican tyranny, when those who make and execute 
the laws assume independence of their fellow-citizens ; for because 
the despotism is impersonal, many-headed, and vague, the gov- 
erned know not where or how to direct their protest and resist- 
ance, — because it is changeable and may be reformed by change, 
the governed wait and hope. For the last fourteen years or more, 
there have been multiplied in the administration of our revenue- 
laws the grossest enormities of extortion and oppression, such as 
would not have been dared or endured under any (so-called) ab- 
solute government in the civilized world, but which have here 
been borne and smothered till the darkness would no longer hide 
them. At the present moment, there is no other government 
this side of Turkey that would venture to rule so exclusively for 
its own interest, and with such supreme indifference to the claims 
and needs of its subjects, as this very government under which we 
live ; nor is there any other government under which the rulers 
can command so complete immunity from the laws which they 
make and administer. 



12 



One chief reason for this state of things is that our scholars, 
our educated men, those who ought to lead opinion and give tone 
to sentiment, except when they have themselves aspired to official 
stations, have gradually withdrawn from their political trust and 
duty. While our educated men have multiplied faster than our 
population, and the standard of education has been continually 
rising, the average culture of our legislators is much lower than 
it was a generation ago. While in our colleges there is no small 
amount of instruction in finance and public economy, the first 
rudiments, the very axioms of financial science, are, for the most 
part, unknown by our officials and law-makers. The greater part 
of our men of high culture not only shun all public charges, but 
hardly concern themselves with the candidates to be presented 
for their suffrage, and furnish a larger contribution to the list of 
non-voters than all other classes together. 

Scholars, let not this reproach rest on you. So far as you have 
leading minds, you are preordained to rule in the republic, if 
not by office, at least by suffrage and by influence. You have 
no right to evade this trust. The exercise of the functions of a 
citizen, openly, constantly, conscientiously, is a duty to which you 
are born, and from which only exile or death can discharge you. 
Office, indeed, you are not bound to seek ; and in our time it is 
only they who seek that find. But if men of large intelligence, 
broad culture, and honest hearts, would only be as truly loyal 
citizens as they are foremost men, there would be some hope of 
the return of those good old days, when, like Cincinnatus from 
the plough, men were forced into office because their country 
needed them, and filled the highest trusts as literally posts of 
service. 

But the Christian scholar, the man of cultured and forceful 
intellect, the patriotic citizen, will be true to his obligations as a 
subject no less than as a ruler, not overriding law in the delusive 
chase after justice, not converting his right into wrong by his 
wayward autonomy in pursuing it, not seeking to reform evils 
and abuses by desecrating the sole legitimate fountain of reform 
and renovation, not vitiating worthy ends by abnormal and harm- 
ful means. The more he feels the dignity which compasses him 
as a king in a nation of kings, the more true and firm will be his 
allegiance to the sovereignty which he shares, the more constant 
his obedience to the rightful authority in which he bears part. 



13 

I have termed this Roman culture, and with good reason. 
Until the declining days of the republic, so long as Rome re- 
tained her integrity free from foreign admixture, there is nothing 
more admirable than the position of the Roman citizen toward 
the state, — answering every call to her service, whether in war 
or peace, to a subaltern place or to supreme command, — if in an 
exalted position, yet obeying with punctilious exactness the laws 
which he was bound to execute, returning to private life poorer 
than he left it, and resuming the charge and duty of an ordinary 
citizen as if the fasces had never been borne before him. Schol- 
ars, familiar as you are with these models, you can do your coun- 
try no better service than to reproduce them. In this steadfast 
loyalty was the invincible power of the Roman Republic. Its 
might was in its law-abiding spirit. By this it grew ; by this it 
overcame ; by this it culminated. When this declined, the pillars 
of its strength shook in their sockets. When this decayed, Rome 
became a mere glorious name in history. 

Hebrew, Greek, Latin, — holiness, beauty, strength, — the triad 
unified in Him whose kingship they inscribed over his cross. 
Scholars, make them one in your aim and endeavor. They be- 
long together in your culture ; see that they be blended in your 
character and your life-work. Hellenize your religion by the 
grace and beauty which alone can give it a shrine worthy of itself. 
Hebraize art, taste, and literature by that ineffaceable corban 
which shall consecrate all that you have and are to the praise of 
God and the good of man. Romanize piety, genius, learning, 
eloquence, aesthetic culture, by loyalty to your country, your con- 
science, and your God. Thus, as in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin 
was written the inscription of mock-royalty over the cross, — over 
your lives, as the title of Him whose sole sovereignty you own, 
shall be written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin the name which 
the seer of Patmos saw on the Saviour's vesture, king of 

KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS. 



BACCALAUREATE HYMN. 



Tune, — " Dennis. 



THY servants come, O Lord, 
Before Thine unseen throne, 
To give Thee praise with one accord. 
For countless mercies shown. 

II. 

We humbly ask Thine aid, 

Our unknown journey through. 

May all life's varied work be made 
Noble and high and true ! 



Then whatsoever lot 

Thy Love may choose to give, 
We gladly take it, doubting not 

We thus most truly live. 



CLASS-DAY EXERCISES. 



J U N E ' i 9, 1874. 



$tt»er of Cyerctges* 



i. 

II. 

Prater. 
By REV. A. P. PEABODY. 

III. 

JHustc. 

IV. 

©ration. 

By RICHARD HENRY DANA, 3d, 

Of Boston. 

V. 



VI. 

Poem. 

By ERNEST FRANCISCO FENOLLOSA, 

Of Salem. 

VII. 

©0£. 

By GEORGE RIDDLE, 

Of Charlestown. 



CLASS-DAY ORATION. 



Class of Seventy-four, and Ladies and Gentlemen, Friends of the 
Class of Seventy-four : 

TO-DAY, this day of strange mixture of sorrow and pleasure, 
the gladdest, yet saddest day of the whole year, we come 
together as a class to bid our friends good-by ; and it is my duty, 
and no unpleasant one either, to tell, only too imperfectly, the 
praises of our class in plain prose, to take a look into the future, 
and withal to say the formal farewell to those of our friends 
who, by their presence here to-day, express their bon voyage 
to us. 

I have been told that it is hard on this occasion to avoid 
saying what has been said over and over again in other class 
orations. The difficulty I do not deny. But I confess it, not 
because new ideas and new phrases cannot be found, but because 
there are some things the feeling of the hour so strongly demands, 
that, though they had been said as often as once a year since the 
year 1636, I should as soon part with my best friend without a 
grasp of his hand as leave them unsaid. Therefore, I make no 
apology for beginning in the good old-fashioned way, and asking 
you to look back with me over the past four years. 

It is customary to speak of the four college years as very short. 
Short, indeed, as the time may be in some respects, and although 
out of it Procrastination may have had his full share of plunder 
from many of us, yet when we call up these four years, and begin 
to tell story after story, we find the time so well packed with inci- 
dents, and so much to say, that one could go on and on, pushed by 
a crowd of pleasant recollections, until he had material enough to 
fill a book. What a book, too, it would be, and how greedily we 
would read it ! 

3 



i8 



It has often occurred to me that a plain narration of our college 
days, a " Tom Brown" at Harvard, told with a simple adherence 
to the truth, would be very interesting, not only to all college 
graduates, but to many others beside. Such a book would be 
an object by no means unworthy of the time and intellect given to 
it by any member of any class ; but how especially gratifying, to 
us at least, if the happy author should be one of the class of 
Seventy-four ! Not only has he a class to draw his characters 
from, which have had unusual success in all that requires the 
exercise of the most manly and interesting talents, — a class which 
have pulled hard, and pulled together with unusual harmony ; not 
only has he a great variety of incident and character, and a large 
number of bright, pleasant men to pick from,- — but also think what 
a deep interest we individually should take in such a book ; how 
in reading it we should recognize one classmate and then another ; 
— how we should tell our friends, and perhaps our children, that 
this great student and scholar was our classmate ; that that noble, 
generous character was our friend ; that this Drysdale was our 
companion ; and that that Hardy rowed in our crew ; that this 
boat-race was won by our class ; that that ball-match was won by 
our class Nine ; that it was our class which was always the foot- 
ball champion, never being beaten by any class in a single game ; 
that it was our class which furnished seven of the Harvard Glee 
Club, six of the Pierian Sodality, eight of the University Foot 
Ball Ten, six of the Harvard Cricket Eleven, four of the Univer- 
sity Six, and four of the University Nine, at one time ; and, in 
fact, that all the glorious deeds described therein were the glori- 
ous deeds of Seventy-four ! 

Lest I should infringe on the rights of such an author as I hope 
to see from our class, and lest the class poet should think I was 
trespassing too much on his ground, I shall limit myself to a few 
spots in the rich field of the class history. Beginning, then, four 
years ago, when we met in University for the first time as a class, 
and when we experienced the first thrill of class pride as we heard 
it announced that our class was to be the largest that ever entered 
Harvard ; beginning with these days, not likely soon to be for- 
gotten, when we received our first impressions of our classmates 
and made our new life-long friendships, and reluctantly turning 
away from many incidents which have impressed me as less im- 
portant, — I would point out a few as deserving special notice. 



*9 

Passing over our various successes in boating and ball in our 
Freshman year, I would call your attention to the fact that out of 
1 78 men we had 91 on the rank-list, that of these a large number 
stood high in positive merit, and that it was, I am told, not only 
the largest number, but also the largest proportion of men obtain- 
ing so high a rank in the Freshman year for many classes past. 
Such a fact as that speaks for itself. 

In the summer vacation, as you all know, our class crew won at 
the Ingleside Regatta. It is not that, however, which I wish to 
recall to your minds, although that is nothing to be ashamed of; 
but what I do want to call up is the exhibition of class feeling, as 
it is called, — that sympathy and interest in all class work, and 
that loyalty to the colors of '74 which has ever since been a lead- 
ing characteristic of the class. 

It was the crowd of classmates who had taken the trouble to 
come from home and witness the race that warms my heart to-day, 
it was their cheer upon cheer which greeted the crew as it came 
down the course which then put nerve into our failing spirits, 
which then and there for all the privations, loss of vacation, and 
all the hard work of months, repaid us to the full, and which here 
and now fires me more than I can tell, — it was the cries of " Har- 
vard ! Harvard ! " and the " Rah ! Rah ! Rah ! " that more than once 
has sounded in our ears. As the crew was nearing the end of 
the course, I recognized the voices of some individual classmates ; 
and, to tell the truth, I have ever since regarded them with a pecul- 
iar feeling of affection, as somehow inseparably connected with 
the very idea of class sympathy. Of course, this enthusiasm seems 
wild and fanciful to many persons. They say it is a very simple, 
common thing for college friends to go and see their class boat 
win a race, — it is no more than natural. But it is its very nat- 
uralness which makes it of all the more worth. It is the natural 
expression of a feeling which, if not natural, could not exist at 
all. It was the first open and public expression of that impulse 
which has made this place more than a mere tread-mill for grind- 
ing out learning, and of which, I think, I do not say too much, 
when I call it the secret of much of our success here ; and I think 
I do not hope too much when I hope it yet may be the secret to 
still greater success elsewhere. 

This same strong sentiment in our class again showed itself in 
a more remarkable way. 



20 



For a long time back, perhaps for two hundred years or more, 
it had been a custom for the whole of each Sophomore class to 
meet together and hold a class supper. For several years before 
we arrived at the dignity of being Sophomores, this good old cus- 
tom was interrupted on account of college society quarrels. 

The class, seeing that that was both very foolish and worse 
than useless, knowing that if they admitted the wedge once, the 
gap would but widen between these who ought to be friends, 
and believing also that in unity alone is strength, were deter- 
mined to break up, once for all, any such feeling ; and therefore, 
putting aside all small jealousies and discords, they had a most 
successful gathering, of which we hold the pleasantest recollec- 
tions, and in which all members of different societies, and men of 
no societies at all, joined together in perfect harmony and mutual 
confidence. 

This social and moral victory was, I think, of more vital im- 
portance to our college life than any thing else that could have 
been done, by us at least. 

We can, I imagine, get training enough in personal politics and 
factious intrigue after we leave college, without desiring to obtain 
honors in that excellent department of instruction while here. 

Our example has been followed by succeeding classes, and thus 
we seem to have pulled up by the root that evil principle of soci- 
ety polemics , — polemics based on the smallest and pettiest dis- 
tinctions, rarely arising from any great question, but springing 
out of the politics of cliques and personal jealousies. 

But so far are men likely to be blinded by such prejudices, so 
much is action hindered and success impaired by it, and such 
examples have we had in other colleges of men so moved by 
society feeling and so gangreened by petty jealousies, and, more 
than all, college honor and character so lowered and cramped 
by them, that more than once have I thanked my good fortune 
that at Harvard we have little or none of that ; and, above all, 
that to this class belonged the credit of being its destroyer ere it 
showed but its head above the ground. 

At the beginning of our Sophomore year, the boat and ball 
clubs were in a low condition. The ball Nine had lost many of 
its best players, and the boat-club both missed its old oarsmen 
and was heavily in debt. 



21 



The class has supplied from time to time no less than nine 
players on the University ball Nine ; and the boat-club has not 
only had new life and energy instilled into it, and a supply of 
new oarsmen from our class, but it is to-day my pride to be able 
to state that, mainly and almost entirely through the efforts of 
this class, the club is nearly free from debt. 

This, however, is transitory. The ball-club will very soon 
lose some of its good players ; on the river some familiar faces 
will be missed, and the boat-club may again fall into debt ; but 
as the glory of a great statesman is not so much to have car- 
ried on the government well, and kept the State from loss and 
harm, but rather to have established such institutions and made 
such laws as will be a permanent benefit after he is dead and 
gone, so after we have left Cambridge, and long after we have 
gone through this our funeral service, perhaps the time will come, 
when, naming over those who have not only increased the inter- 
est in boating, but developed the system, subdivided and arranged 
the labor of carrying it on, and enlarged its facilities, the class of 
'74 may be recalled with no unthankful praise. 

Although our class has had its full share of renown in the 
manly exercises, yet that has not, I am glad to say, prevented her 
from obtaining honors in the literary field as well ; and perhaps 
the greatest monument to her energy and ability is that it was 
the first class that has ever been able to carry on two college 
periodicals at once. 

It used to be hard enough to edit but one ; and yet, while that 
one, which was of long standing and acknowledged success, was 
at the height of its fame, the second was started by men of our 
class alone. This has often been mentioned before, as something 
rightly to be proud of. 

It must be difficult enough to start a new periodical at any 
time, and in any place. It must be especially difficult to start 
and carry on one with the success that has attended the Magenta, 
in a class out of which had already been chosen for the other 
paper as large a share of the best literary ability as was supposed 
to be in an average class ; but, perhaps the hardest of all, and the 
most to be proud of, is that these two papers have gone on side 
by side without conflict or discord. 

It seems to me that, as articles must be written at short notice, 



22 



as an editor cannot let his passion cool, cannot with Horace let 
his works lie hid nine years, and inasmuch as newspapers ever 
since the " Examiner" and the "Medley," the " Postman" and 
the " Postboy," including the " Independent," and " Gazette " of 
Pickwickian fame, and down to the present day, are notedly the 
fields of bitter strife, — it seems to me, I say, of no less credit to 
the editors of both papers, and through them to the class, that 
they have made the gentleman spirit and the generous tone 
prevail, that they have produced twice the amount of poetry 
and prose, and interested twice as many readers as any year 
before. 

The class has had the disadvantage of living, in one respect, 
in an inverted order of things. There exists an anomaly in col- 
lege, which it may perhaps, one day, be in the power of some of 
those who have shown ability in journalism while here partly to 
correct. 

The object of the founders of this University on the one hand, 
and of all thoughtful men who enter it on the other, is, I suppose, 
that they may be fitted for the greatest usefulness in the highest 
fields, by a most perfect education and wise habits of study. 
The chief end, therefore, of our being here, aside from the 
higher duties which follow us everywhere, the " Veritas," the 
" Christo et Ecclesias," is culture. 

The manly exercises, the boating and ball, are but the hand- 
maids to knowledge. They hold, indeed, an important and even 
necessary place, as strengthening the constitution, as increasing 
the supplies of energy, and as drawing attention to the observance 
of the laws of health. 

They are, however, useful, only in order that we may be able 
to employ to better advantage and for a longer space of time the 
results of scholarship ; and yet all must acknowledge that in point 
of exciting public attention the physical exercises have an undue 
share. 

To be sure, too much stress laid on mere rank in college is 
perhaps more to be dreaded than too little ; but still, why forget 
the great scholars altogether? 

Columns of the newspapers are devoted to the accounts of the 
crews contending at the races, and every one knows the names 
of the six representing his favorite college ; but how many, pray, 



23 

know as well the six best scholars of the graduating class? In the 
papers appear again and again the weights of the University 
crew, their ages, heights, and the girth of their chests ; but when 
have we read of weight of learning of the head scholar, where do 
we find stated the maturity of his thought, the depth and height 
of his mental capacity, or the circumference of his stock of learn- 
ing, filled with something else than empty air? 

Yet, notwithstanding this wrong cast of the balance, the almost 
total absence of public incitement to scholarship, it is in' my 
power to repeat some high compliments paid to the class at 
large for their intellectual standing, and, without making any 
odious comparisons, I shall say, and that from the best authority, 
that the class has shown unusual interest and worked with no 
ordinary success in the philosophical studies, that the themes and 
forensics have been of an uncommonly high character, showing 
clear and well-arranged ideas, careful and original thought, and, 
in general, that there has been a great deal of that wise kind of 
study which is done not for the sake of rank, but for knowledge 
itself. 

There is one circumstance in the class history which I cannot 
pass over without mention, as showing as much as any thing 
I remember the pluck of the class, and yet not likely to be 
generally known. Although not myself personally engaged in it 
in any way, I had a good opportunity for observation. 

Some of you perhaps read in your morning " Advertiser," about 
thirteen months ago, that the class races had taken place on the 
Charles, and that the first prize was won after a hard struggle by 
the crew of '74 ; but how little did you know of the difficulties 
and obstacles to be overcome, in order to get the head of the 
river ? 

Of our proper class crew, four were rowing on the University 
crew, one was unable to row for private reasons, and the only one 
left, who was then rowing stroke, had to give up just as the crew 
began regular work. What a state of affairs ! Yet, notwith- 
standing all that, they plucked up courage, put another man in 
stroke, broke in another green hand, and were getting on as 
prosperously as could be expected as the day of the race drew 
near, when this third stroke-oar unluckily fell and dislocated his 
arm. Then, of course, they must give up. It was too near the 



2 4 

races to get any one else into form and condition to row, and the 
other crews were doing admirably. But no ! Not so for the class 
of '74. It might do for others, but not for them. They put 
another man in as stroke, got still another new hand, broke him in, 
and worked harder than ever ; and then on the day of the race, 
after many a long discouraging row, they entered as much to show 
the pluck of the class as in hope of gaining that victory which 
in my opinion was the most creditable among the many we have 
had in the way of boating. It was a victory not only over com- 
peting crews, but over opposing circumstances. 

With this story of pluck and determination I close what I hope 
may be but the beginning of a still longer list of triumphs in 
moral and mental fields to each and all of us ; and with reluc- 
tant eyes do I turn away from the history of a class which, with- 
out boast, I believe I may say holds no mean rank among those 
classes that have left a fair name behind them. 

However delightful it may be to dwell thus on our past history, 
yet for us the future is more full of real, intense concern. We 
must let the dead past bury its dead, but we who are full of life 
and hope must prepare for to-morrow. 

The future which naturally is so bright to us is sometimes 
painted in very dull colors. We are told of good old times in the 
past, but are informed that the present age has degenerated ; we 
are left to enter, without hope, a losing race, and to know that after 
all our struggles we are to make no headway against wind and tide. 
This picture is enough to take away all heart for any effort ; 
and we would at the outset be discouraged indeed, had we not 
a gleam of hope furnished in a quiet way by some of our old 
friends, Horace, Cicero, Lucretius, Juvenal, and Aristophanes. 
They let us into the good old times, as they are called, and show 
us what they really were. They talk, strangely enough, of the 
degeneracy of their times, as we do now of ours. 

Yes : it is but the same old story. Always disparaging the 
present and future, and pointing back to an age which itself in its 
turn pointed back to another ; and so on do we find them pointing 
back, until we come to the golden age, when men were wise 
enough to leave no records behind them to betray their failings to 
after-generations. 

Although with all its ups and downs there is progress, and al- 



25 

though it is possible for this generation to leave the world a little 
better than they found it, yet it does sometimes seem as if we 
were on a receding wave of the advancing tide. 

Without being one of those who desire a cheap and easy ap- 
plause by decrying public men, and with all due praise to a few 
bright exceptions, I think when we hear of the dreadful dis- 
closures, to which we have almost grown hardened by their 
frequency, in the highest political bodies, and when we see the 
corruption thence steadily flowing down all through public life, 
we may begin to cry out with good reason, and above all to dread 
lest, as in the lowest periods of French history, the public roguery 
will not keep in its own channel, but ooze out into private life. 
But why should such a state of things exist? 
We have certainly enough good men in this country who ought 
to keep up a different state of affairs, and who have shown them- 
selves ready on great emergencies. Not only has the better class 
aroused itself in some of our cities and thrown off corrupt city 
officers ; not only is there a great number of honorable, high- 
minded men in private life, only too likely to be overlooked, but 
remember that we have just carried on a long war, so lately that 
it needs no epithets to describe it now to you, on pure principle. 
These considerations should furnish us encouragement in the 
gloomiest hours. 

Perhaps none of the class have forgotten a few words spoken 
to us, during our Freshman year, in the Upper Hall of Massa- 
chusetts, by Mr. Hughes, — Tom Hughes I mean. Some were, 
doubtless, then stirred by him with a determination to give 
attention to their public duties, and do what they could for 
country. 

While appealing to us in a thrilling manner to take more 
interest in public affairs, — an appeal, which, had I his power, I 
would again doubly impress upon you here, — he said that the diffi- 
culty with our country seemed to be that the educated and best 
people disliked entering politics. 

There is no necessity, I am sure, for repeating to-day what was 
so earnestly and well said to the class on the same subject, in the 
Baccalaureate Sermon last Sunday. 

It is only too true that too many educated men do hold back 
from political life, that they do not attend the polls and nominat- 

4 



26 



ing meetings as they ought ; but that is T not the bottom of the 
matter. There must be some sufficient reason for this lack of 
interest, and it is our duty to ask ourselves that reason. 

I cannot make myself believe that our education has unfitted men 
for such work on the one hand, nor on the other that questions of 
state are not a field large enough for their capacities. I cannot 
believe that men whose habits of study have taught them interests 
outside of themselves, and whose knowledge shows them the 
necessity of purity in public life, have of their own accord lost 
interest in .the good of the country. 

No : there is a radical difficulty in the working of the political 
machinery. The reason that the better men do not much appear 
in politics is that this great machinery is so arranged that men 
of high principle and honor work at an immense disadvantage 
compared with the less scrupulous. 

The best of the community are at the short arm of the lever ; 
and when a truly good and great man does appear, it is only 
because he has borne up against enormous odds. 

There is in the United States a great body of men who have 
gradually become to be improperly used in our political machine. 
This body makes up a sort of Feudal System. The leading por- 
tion of these men hold office, with salaries and perquisites, at 
the personal will of representatives of the people, and their sub- 
ordinates hold their positions literally, and only on the same abject 
tenure ; so that the whole body, from beginning to end, and in- 
cluding hundreds of thousands of men, are really in total subser- 
vience to the private wish of elected rulers. 

Not many years after the establishment of the Constitution, this 
army of civilians began to be used not only for party purposes, — 
that would be bad enough, — but for personal political warfare. 
When once the fruit was tasted, it began to be devoured. This 
body has steadily increased in numbers ever since ; and the prac- 
tice of using the power of displacing from office for purposes of 
private promotion, and of considering office as the reward for per- 
sonal electioneering services, has also grown, until now this is 
left to be treated as an unguarded field of plunder. 

It was far from the intention of the framers of our Constitution 
that such a use should be made of these officials. When people 
talk of keeping to the spirit of the Constitution, let them look to 



27 

this. This custom, unjust from its nature, already having led to bad 
results and apparently coming to worse, is continued and recog- 
nized every day ; and yet, if any thing can be unconstitutional in 
spirit, this is. • 

But yet its great evil is not that it is unconstitutional, — it is 
worse than that. 

This body of men, much larger than necessary, is for the 
most part irregularly and illegally paid. It is a fraud on the pub- 
lic. Their salaries are nominally small ; but while congressmen 
are making popular harangues on frugality, and are obtain- 
ing great credit at home for their careful economy of the public 
funds, while they reduce the pay of the army and hinder promo- 
tion in the navy, and try to under-pay the judges, — these on whose 
integrity, learning, and prudence, in this country more than in any 
other, depend personal freedom and happiness, — while they pro- 
verbially under-pay these, I say, they continue old laws, or 
quietly pass new laws, authorizing an increase, not of salaries, — 
oh, no ! for that would become known to the public, — but of 
perquisites of the purely executive offices under their appoint- 
ment. 

These legalized leagues of the public funds form twice, thrice, 
and often ten times the nominal salaries, in many cases five or 
eight times the salary of the Chief Justice of the United States, 
and yet paid out for work requiring little education or ability. 

Yet the great evil is, again, not that this body of men is an 
unnecessary expense to the government, or even that there is 
irregularity and injustice in their payment. If that were all the 
evil, I would not have mentioned the subject here to-day. Such 
economy is better preached to those who have the public funds 
under their control. Nor is the greatest evil that no small part 
of this money thus received is given out, as an understood thing, 
for sustaining the most objectionable features of our election cam- 
paigns. 

I do not bring up this subject to-day, because the members of 
this body under our present system are appointed not for fitness for 
office, but for fitness for electioneering services, not because some 
in office have been bullied into changes of position, not because 
outcrying injustice has been, done to others determined to vote 
according to their sense of duty and refusing to assist in pack- 
ing caucuses. No ! the evil is still greater and deeper. 



28 



In ancient Rome, the republic fell, to be sure, as its best men 
lost their interest in public affairs ; but the best men began to lose 
their interest only when the armed force of Sulla appeared at the 
city gates. What we have now to fear is that this large body of 
paid retainers are becoming, and have already become, a great 
Pretorian Guard to the politicians of each party as it comes into 
power. They do not do their chief work at the polls, or by influ- 
encing voters, or even by fraudulent counting of votes. Their 
power is at the preliminary nominating meetings and at the 
caucuses. It is an acknowledged fact, that is becoming more 
and more felt, that those who are called the people's choice are, 
with a few exceptions, not their choice at all. 

Is it then very strange that the most honorable men do not much 
appear in political life, when we consider that they cannot, from 
their high principles, make that use of this body of men which 
the less scrupulous can, nor offer the salaries and perquisites of 
office as a reward for electioneering service ? Is it strange that not 
only the highly educated, but, what is still more Ominous, the best 
part of the working men of middle and humbler station of life, who 
really form the back-bone of the country, alike keep away from 
caucuses, which are managed by a disciplined, paid body, before 
whom other men have about as much chance of success as an 
unarmed populace before a regular army ? Are such people greatly 
to be blamed for not attending the caucuses and polls, when they 
so well know that they are to cast a vote only too often on but a 
choice of evils? Experience has shown that there is no lasting 
benefit from periodical purifications in politics, nor will a change 
of party produce any better effect. The outs as well as the ins 
intend to make use of the same means. The outs may make fair 
promises at first, but when they come in power they are no better 
than the late ins. 

What, then, are we to do? Are we, like Sisyphus, all our life 
long to be constantly rolling up with great labor the huge stone 
of political virtue, only to see it come thundering down again to 
its former level ? 

Avdig erteira m'dovde xvlivdeto Xclag dvaidsg. 

There must be a great and radical reform. 

Possibly the vast experiment of political freedom, which is 



2 9 

being tried on this continent, may one day fail, to the intense dis- 
appointment of all lovers of liberty, if its whole success is to 
depend on the ceaseless untiring efforts of its best men, made all 
the time only at great disadvantage. 

And yet we are told by a certain one of the people's choice, that 
the civil service needs no reform — that it could not be better. 

Here is the very point. It is because it is so particularly 
well suited to the politicians of each party as it comes in power, 
that I bring up the subject here to-day. It is because this reform, 
unfortunately called the Civil Service Reform, but which rather 
deserves the name of a National Reform, as it is not so much a 
change in the civil service as the virtue of the whole country 
that we wish to secure ; it is because this reform cannot be expected 
to be made by those whose whole prospect of a career depends 
upon the present state of our system ; it is because it must be 
started almost without aid from those engaged in politics, because 
it is an interest of great import to all men of all professions and 
all kinds of business, and a reform which can only be brought 
about by being forced at the polls by the universal uprising of 
all good men in the country, that to-day I make the suggestion, 
which I hope will meet your approval, that the graduates of this 
year make it their special work to do their utmost for this reform. 

The means, as usually considered, for bringing it about, are to 
open the civil service to competitive examinations, to have length 
of faithful service considered as a means of advancement, and to 
prevent removal except for incompetency or misconduct. Such 
a reform, as you all know, has been made in England and has 
worked with great success. 

To study this reform, make the necessary changes to adapt it 
to our government, so thoroughly to understand it as not to be 
blinded or satisfied by any pretence at reform, are parts of the 
work to be performed by just such educated men as you, my 
classmates ; and thus can every thing be so prepared, when the 
movement begins, that persons will be found ready to take advan- 
tage of that tide in men's affairs which must always be taken at 
the flood. 

Each class orator is said to believe that his class is going to 
reform the world, and some old cynics take a quiet sort of 
pleasure in seeing how silently every thing goes on after the 



3o 

class has graduated, how surely their high ideals come down, and 
how soon they are contented to keep in the ruts made for them by 
others. 

Although I am not so sure that this youthful hopefulness is so 
entirely out of place, — for how stale and flat the world would be 
without it, — yet it is indeed a healthful piece of knowledge to 
remember that it is but little that can be done by us. 

The influence of one hundred and eighty educated men scat- 
tered over the country may form in time an atom of the public 
opinion, but hardly more. 

But what is it I am saying now? Let us look back one hun- 
dred years, and whom do we see before us but John Adams, 
Samuel Adams, Josiah Qiiincy, John Hancock, James Otis, 
Joseph Warren, all graduates of Harvard. They were then but 
unknown graduates of an unknown college, in an oppressed 
province in a remote quarter of the globe ; and they had to con- 
tend against the greatest of the five powers of Europe. 

Is it possible that there is any less chance of successful work to 
be done by some of the class who are here to-day ? 

To be sure, it is hardly to be expected that such great leaders 
will come from this particular class. It is not that, however, 
which is required of us. We can do a great deal of good merely 
by working in unison. That crew wins the race, not which has 
a Samson at an oar, but every man of which pulls together. 

I remember seeing Mr. Sumner a short time before his death, 
and hearing him say that his generation had been but laying 
foundations of liberty and returning purity in this country, and 
that to us belonged the duty of finishing the work ; and again he 
said that he looked to the young men of the country for help, and 
that on us must come the heat and burden of this strife. 

Purifying, as a National Reform will be, and however much 
our public bodies will be improved by it, yet we cannot expect to 
be entirely free from corruption. There often looms up before us a 
fear of the great power of money, and the iron roads are forming 
that kind of net-work over us which is as much to be our dread 
as our boast. 

You will, I feel sure, all agree with me when you hear the 
familiar platitude that the great aristocracy of wealth can only be 
counteracted, or rather led in the right direction^ by culture and 



3i 

education ; and that this work must be done, for the most part, by 
graduates of our colleges. But to come to the rub. Will you, 
members of the class of '74, give up some of your time for ease 
and pleasure to regular study and improving reading, will you 
attend lectures, learn to love the highest art, and keep up with 
science and philosophy, — in fact, will you go through the 
drudgery? And that, too, not in the indefinite future ;. but will 
you begin this very next fall before the habits of application are 
lost? I am afraid I know only too well how it will be. Not 
far different from the old story. Coming back in fifteen years, 
we shall, perhaps, meet some old friend whose wit, good looks, 
and talents we formerly admired. His face will be round and 
smooth, and his eye have lost its light. We shall feel, though 
glad to see an old friend, yet somehow disappointed in him. 
Then again we may meet another whom perhaps we thought 
rather dull and slow in college. But what a difference now ! His 
bright eye, his firm mouth, and his speaking face convey an 
unexpected pleasure. An indescribable change has come over 
a familiar face. Yes ; for on his features culture and character, 
the best of nature's artists, have been moulding and chiselling 
for fifteen years. 

We have lately been often asked whether we were not glad that 
we were so nearly through our college course. On the contrary, 
the feeling has been far different, with most of us at least. The 
very familiar types of joy and pleasure in poetry and song, the 
budding leaves, the springing grass, and the well-known note of 
one bird after another, have had this year a touch of sadness they 
never had before. They were the signs of parting from these old 
scenes and kind friends. 

And now before the last few words, and while still clinging to 
the past, let me say that it is not the least of our blessing to be 
thankful for, that the class have met so little loss by death, — the 
only one, so early in the course that we hardly knew how kind 
a heart, how hard a student, and how steady a friend we were 
deprived of by the loss of Adams. 

In the name of the class, I bid farewell to the tall and stately 
trees, the oft-trodden paths, the familiar walks, — good-by to the 
river, the foot-ball ground, and Jarvis Field. 

In the name of the class, I bid adieu to the unappreciated en- 



32 

forcers of parietal discipline, to the tutors and professors who 
have opened broad fields of knowledge and thought to our view, 
and to the ever successful head of the University. 

I bid farewell to the college-rooms, which, filled with old mem- 
ories and associations, are soon silently and sadly to look on their 
unappreciating, unknowing, new occupants. 

In the name of the class, I bid farewell to the old and homely 
buildings, and to those new and more tasteful, soon to miss — who 
knows for how long? — some cheery, familiar voices. 

And lastly, in the name of the class, I utter the wish for peace 
and prosperity to the college walls. May her storehouses burst 
with plenty, and may she ever sit a fair queen, looking fondly on 
her loyal and loving children. 

One word more to the class. If the time should ever come to 
any of us, as indeed it may, when the highest motives fail, when 
love of country, home, or kindred does not keep away despond- 
encies nor give refreshing zeal, then try, as not perhaps the least 
effective, the thought of friends in the class of Seventy-four. 



POEM. 



i. 

I ONLY sing the song we all are singing, 
For each man is a poet here to-day, 
And each a wreath of memories is bringing 
Upon the tomb of four dead years to lay. 

And as I strike my lyre to wake the feeling 
Which is, perhaps, unconsciously your own, 

I hear through all its joyous measures stealing 
The sad key-note in restless monotone. 

And this is well ; for otherwise our pleasure, 
Now so intense, would be a senseless void : 

'Tis honest work alone which finds a treasure, 
And sweetness is not such when unalloyed. 

A million years may change the hosts of Heaven, 
Through centuries vast nations rise and fall ; 

But only once on earth our life is given, 
And in its briefness is contained our all. 

Then do not underestimate, my brother, 

The difference between the Now and Then. 

We came untutored boys before our Mother, 

She waved her wand, and lo ! she finds us men. 

Yet let us not of Future trouble borrow ; 

Our friends should sympathize alone with joys : 
To-day a thick veil hangs before To-morrow, 

And let us still believe that we are boys. 
5 



34 



The pleasant sun is smiling bright above us, 
As when we first ran through the daisied field ; 

And in the happy eyes of those that love us 
Old home associations are revealed. 

Here in our second home about the portal 

A family of brothers we remain, 
Whose lives are one from mortal to immortal, 

Although we all may never meet again. 

For, as the tiny bodies of the coral 

Are nurtured by their fellows' mutual play, 

So we our mental sustenance, and moral, 
Have drawn from one another day by day. 

To-day both ties of family are round us ; 

And let us linger in their dear embrace, 
Forgetting stern Necessity has bound us 

To make our home with the whole human race. 



II. 

How Vividly we can recall 

The looks almost funereal 

Of those who stood four years ago 

Beneath the sympathetic trees 
Which lent their own fresh verdant glow, 

All ignorant of the mysteries 
Which each dark building might conceal 
And which the future would reveal. 

The new-fledged Soph stalked bravely by 
And scanned us with bloodthirsty eye, 
As ancient priests their victims did, 

Or Brighton butcher does his sheep. 
And then a bell rang overhead, 

Which, strange no more, has oft from sleep 
Called many an unrepentant soul 
Still dreaming: of the flowing bowl. 



35 



But, like a set of painful dreams, 
That long examination seems 
Half shrouded in forgetfulness, 

As all its various subjects do. 
For who could now correctly guess 

The longitude of Timbuctoo, 
Or translate the Anabasis, 

Or scan a page of Virgil through? 
And who could now in Mathematics 
Extract cube-roots or solve quadratics ? 

Bright scenes come crowding thick and fast 
From out the bosom of the Past. 
And Memory only shows the roses, 

But covers o'er forgotten thorns ; 
And reckons not of bloody noses 

Or battered shins or trodden corns, 
But only how we rushed the Soph, 
And hats as trophies carried off. 

About our rooms, which tales might tell 
Of madcap pranks and joys, still dwell 
Affectionate remembrances. 

And we forget the midnight grind, 
Forgive the goody's carelessness, 

And, to our chum's ill-nature blind, 
Think of our life as happy play, 
From which we sadly pass away. 

How pleasant in our fragile boat 
Upon the winding Charles to float, 
And watch the evening clouds grow red, 

And feel cool breezes round us blow, 
As o'er the mirrored sky we sped, 

Our pulsing blood with health aglow, 
And when the shades of night came down, 
Stronger and fresher, seek the town ! 



36 



Our crews an honorable place 
Have won in almost every race ; 
And, even if the wrath divine 

Of river-gods o'erturn their boat, 
They swim with it across the line, 

And dripping seek the friendly float, 
Where laughing crowds the heroes greet, 
And cheer their unexpected feat. 

The champions of the Harvard Crew 
With pride among our ranks we view, 
Each year more celebrated grown, 

The giants of each summer's course. 
And as this year we watch the sun 

Flash from their quickly dipping oars, 
May no diagonal's deceit 
At Saratoga bring defeat. 

But other sports the w r arm days yield 
Upon the turf at Jarvis Field. 
Far out the anxious fielder sees 

A white ball quivering 'gainst the sky, 
And swerving sidelong with the breeze. 

A catch, a throw, the umpire's cry ! 
Another victory over Yale ! 
Na} r , e'en the Boston champions fail ! 

Forget we not the Football Club 
With whom McGill had quite a rub. 
No doubt the valiant members hold 

Each bruise an honorable sign 
They did their duty, strong and bold ; 

And, time permitting, many a line 
'Twould take to tell the charms of Cricket, 
The valiant contests at the wicket. 

Of course there never was a class 
Which could in scholarship surpass 



37 



The record of our Seventy-four, 

So many on the rank-list know, 
So many candidates before 

For honors in all branches show. 
And none could ever boast like us 
A triple-headed Cerberus. 

A second College paper, too, 

Our class may boast of " putting through," 

Which amicably holds its place 

Beside the Harvard Advocate. 
The Reading Room its birth must trace 

In future backward to our date. 
The French and German Clubs shall be 
Our gift to all posterity. 

But while the stalwart Gods we woo, 
And homage to Minerva do, 
The Muses we do not forsake, 

Euterpe and Polymnia. 
Sweet sounds at night the students wake ; 

And busy voices sound afar 
The Harvard Glee Club's well-earned fame, 
The honor of Pierian's name. 

Ah ! sweet to stand at evenfall 
And sing beneath the elm-trees tall, 
Through whose soft rustling leaves the moon 

Glances with melancholy beam, 
While the delicious air of June 

Turns life into a fairy dream, 
And in the shadows grouped around 
The students listen. to the sound ! 

Yet turn we from these higher themes 
To one which seldom comes in dreams. 
With us the ancient glory dies 

Of Commons we so well have known. 



38 



No more the stinging snow-ball flies, 

The hats shall now be let alone, 
No president shall grow irate 
When Freshmen dodge the flying plate. 

And here just gliding from the shore 
We greet our gallant Seventy Four. 
Her canvas now shall be unfurled, 

And every port be opened wide, 
And to the evil of the world 

Defiance bidden with broadside. 
And ne'er her flag shall cease to wave 
Till all her crew are in the grave. 



III. 

Let voices be subdued within these walls 

Before an audience of unseen dead, 
Who even now perchance adown the halls 

Pass and repass with ever-noiseless tread, 
And in our faces look, and lis.t to what is said. 

When life was brightest, and their years in bloom, 
They rushed a-field to meet their country's foes ; 

With their own hearts shut out the impending doom, 
And with their blood, a price no human knows, 
Bought for a down-trod race immunity from woes. 

The nation, on whose fate the whole world hung, 
Faced her inevitable problem then, — 

The dreaded problem shunned while she was young ; 
And in that hour she found her sons were men. 
They died, but in their death we all breathe free again. 

But by their graves in some neglected spot 
Their great and noble spirits could not stay. 

They came to see if they had been forgot ; 
And, lo ! they find yon massive Hall's array, 
And would inspire the class that graduates to-day. 



39 

There in the shadow of the solemn tower 

Which stands at night with all the stars alone, 
'Neath arms of oak, the symbol of that power 

Which great men wield who break a tyrant's throne, 
The visitor with awe shall scan each marble stone. 

No more the martial trump to battle calls ; 

And with the fiery test we are not tried, 
Like those who live in yon memorials ; 

And yet methinks there is a field as wide, 
Wherein we must defend the prize for which they died. 

The gathering storm a century ago 

Upon the trembling air sent signs before. 

Men braced themselves for the last overthrow ; 
And all advantages we have in store 
We owe alone to those stout hearts of Seventy-four. 

Yet do not think their victory is won 

While still the hosts of tyranny and wrong 

At work beneath the dome in Washington 

Would drain the country's blood, which once so strong 
Flowed busy through her veins, and commerce whirled along. 

As long as sits Corruption on high thrones, 
And but in name the people's choice is free, 

And Congressmen fill offices with drones 
And vote themselves increased back-salary, 
And men the State and Church united fain would see, 

So long the blood of slaughtered brethren cries, 

So long the fathers of our land implore, 
"Young men, with whom her destiny now lies, 
Take up the arms which we have used before 
And stern defend the heritage we hand you o'er." 

But 'mid the inspirations of the Past 

The freshest is of him but lately gone, 
For years the Ship of State's most stanch mainmast, 



4 o 



Who fell asleep with his great victory won, 
America's and Harvard's loved and honored son. 

We saw the solemn train pass silently 

Which bore him to his final resting-place. 

And though, when we are called upon to die, 
We may not be thus mourned by all our race, 
Each leaves upon the world his everlasting trace. 

A little pebble falling in the sea 

Ruffles the ether to its outmost star. 
And so our influence, whate'er it be, 

Shall stretch into the misty Future far, 
And that which men shall be result from what we are. 

What eminence our country shall attain 

In culture or in useful arts or power 
Is ours to say ; for we are like the grain 

Of mustard-seed, or leaven within the flour. — 
And the great end shall come in some unreckoned hour. 

We have a standard of high aim to set, 

A native literature to put in form, 
A school of art it may be to create, 

At least make culture and true friendship warm 
Our frigid worldty rules into some higher norm. 

Make men feel greater earnestness in life, 

A childlike reverence for all they see. 
Show the whole world with love and beauty rife. 
Hope well of that which is through God to be, 
And teach a steadfast individuality. 



The sea is swayed by worship of the moon. 
The mountains stand aghast before the storm, 
Or gaze upon loved valleys nestled warm 
Under their shoulders. Birds their sweetest tune 
Pour forth in praise. So let us love and sing, — 



For all things full of wondrous beauty are, — 

And reverence the lustre of a star, 

Be it in heaven or be it in some dear eye. 
So may the love of every man and thing 

Possess our souls, that we may not decry 
The meanest of God's creatures. World, thou art 
That mystery of which we are a part. 

And each event the years bring as they fly 
Is eloquent unto our listening heart. 

E'en as this earth for countless years hath rolled 
About the sun in orbit of her own, 
With independent pride and all alone, 

Save one sweet page that doth her sleep behold, 

Yet bound by laws omnipotent of old 

To every swinging star that studs yon zone, 
The centre of an influence unknown, 

A unit free, controlling and controlled, 

So is the man of great and noble deeds 
Bound by the gravitating force of Right, 
Uninfluenced by those who feel his might, 

Holding his own amid all thoughts and creeds, 

Though reverent of all, a unit still 

Of social force, an independent will. 

The years are stepping-stones by which we rise 
To dreamed-of regions. Like a distant peak 
Whose snowy top the mountaineer must seek 

By passing o'er the ridge that 'neath it lies, 

The misty Future looms before our eyes ; 
And longing for its beauty spurs our weak, 
Slow steps with hope we hardly dare to speak, 

And soon the goal is won to our surprise. 

No progress on this earth was ever wrought, 
No grand nobility of soul was seen, 
Where no strong wish disturbed the course serene 

Of men who were contented with their lot. 

Hoping, we grasp the hand that God extends, 

And in our own complete his perfect ends. 

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4 2 



The dreamed-of Golden Age would come again, 

Nor stifled Virtue longer darkly grope, 
If we could teach our sordid countrymen 
Their hearts unto this Trinity to ope, 
Reverence, Individuality, and Hope. 



IV. 

Whene'er each business-driven dog 
Looks o'er the Harvard Catalogue, 
The papers which he finds therein 
Will quick recall what erst has been, 
And fresh before his eyes will loom 
His well-known recitation room, 
The ghosts of authors he has read, 
Examinations, squirt and dead. 

Our much-revered professors too 
In memory's glass we oft shall view ; 
And Wisdom shall before us flit, 
Upon a mental black-board writ. 
Oh, had I a blue book once more, 
Such as we bought at Sever's store, 
How quick my loyal hand should fly 
To scribble on its page, or die ! 

O well-proportioned polygon ! 

O parallelopipedon ! 

In fancy's strange prismatic light 

You flash again upon my sight. 

O tangent, secant, and cosine ! 

We've sung your praise o'er ruby wine ; 

And even sometimes made a note 

Of conjugate or asymptote. 

Thank Heaven ! we have been taught to speak 
The native pure accented Greek. 
And those who study Latin know 
Rome's orator as Kikero. 



43 



Farewell, old Aristophanes, 
Euripides and Sophocles ! 
The upper shelf, sirs, if you please, 
Where you shall be allowed your ease. 

O horrid thoughts of Boylston Hall ! 
My blood grows cold as I recall. 
A friend of mine, upon my word, 
Who water on some powder poured, 
Was driven down the stairway clean 
By a Phenylamylamene ! 
The Chloropropionic there 
Delights, 'tis said, to make his lair. 
Beware the Pseudoporpurine, 
The Ethomethoxanodine ! 

Come hither, pure Philosophy ; 
Press your Platonic lips to me, 
And sing the transcendental strain 
Sweet and familiar o'er again. 
Far, vague, and dim, strange spirits come, 
With wizzled forms and faces glum. 
'Tis Fichte's ghost astride the wind, 
With Kant and Hegel on behind ! 

Say, dwellers with the Noumenon ! 

Where have the Categories gone? 

Leaves on your memory no trace 

This nightmare world of Time and Space? 

Mighty Trichomistic seer, 

Unto the Absolute Idea 

Our best respects take back with thee, 

And let it be assured that we 

All hope it isn't kept awake 

With Dialectic stomach-ache. 

But all- these forms are hid from view 
By History, and Physic too ; 



44 

And modest in the foreground is 
A sister troupe of Ologies. 
While timid Music ends the train 
With one low solitary strain. 



V. 



Look back upon the distant plain, 

From which your weary feet 
Have climbed the livelong day with pain. 
Glance o'er its pleasant groves again, 

And all its meadows sweet. 

Now, at the setting of the sun, 

The mountain shadows fall. 
Dark lines across the picture run, 
And all the elm-trees one by one 

Come out distinct and tall. 

Afar behold a smoky wreath 

Rise slowly and serene. 
Your ancient cottage lies beneath, 
And all your childish playgrounds with 

Their carpeting of green. 

I see the furrows where our plough 

All day we used to guide, 
And clearings in the forest now 
Where our stout arms made tall trees bow, 

High up the mountain side. 

There flows the crystal river still, 

In whose luxuriant flood, 
When through our haying on the hill, 
We tumbled at our own sweet will, 

And cooled our heated blood. 



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45 



Thus, comrades, stay your course awhile, 

And thoughtfully look back. 
I see upon your lips a smile, 
As if regardless of the toil 

Before you on the track. 

High overhead the bare peaks loom 

Whose summit are our goal, 
To Heaven so near, although a tomb 
To find thereon must be the doom 

Of each aspiring soul. 

Turn back, and with a tear, O friends, 

The map unrolled review. 
An added charm the distance lends, 
And all its features memory blends 

Into a picture true. 

Up from the ocean creeps the mist ; 

And Night with hurrying wing 
Hangs out her lanterns in the East. 
Quick ! fore the vision shall have ceased, 

And mark each fading thing. 

Farewell, dear homes of bygone years ! 

Sweet life of youth, good-night ! 
Your fairy land is drowned in tears. 
Look up ! for now above appears 

Our only hope of light. 

Look up ! for through the drifting night is gleaming 
A glory brighter than our earthly day, 

And all the toilsome rocks before are seeming 
To beauty softened in its holy ray. 

The bow of promise arches o'er the Heaven. 

Glory and Love and Duty bid us come. 
Bright forms there are we have not dreamed of even, 

Ready within our hearts to make their home. 



4 6 



Our ways diverge, as up life's journey pressing 

We set our feet toward the final goal. 
Companions, brothers, give each other blessin 

For the last time let soul commune with 

Often shall we recall familiar faces, 

And on these happy years delight to dwell. 

But now the hour draws nigh with stealthy paces, 
Which bids us grasp each hand and say 

Farewell. 



ODE. 



MIGHTY Fount of our Knowledge, twice blessed thou art, 
Blessed with gitts of old age and glad youth, 
Guided still by the deeds of those gone long before, 

Moving on with the great living truth. 
Works of honor all frosted with winters of time, 
Shade the fruits that in spring-time will bloom. 
'Tis the toil of the past which still strengthens our growth, 
And makes light out of darkness to loom. 

As the drops from the rain-clouds descend to the earth, 

Pouring vigor and life all around, 
Giving growth to the plants and upswelling the streams, 

And imparting fresh green to the ground, 
So, great Source of our Knowledge, instil thy pure drops 

In the ground of our learning's poor store, 
That, refreshed, we may join the great stream of the world 

As glad off-shoots of Seventy-Four ! 

Alma Mater, receive a deep heart-felt farewell 

From thy scions as onward they glide, 
Floating gently to meet the swift ocean of life, 

Looking on at the quick-coming tide. 
Deep oppressed by the feelings that now we must part, 

As the stream grows as broad as can be, 
We but gaze at our sun sinking slow in the West, 

Sure to rise clear from out our great sea. 



CLASS SONG. 



AROUND the flower-wreathed tree we stand 
To sing our last, our farewell song, 
Again to feel hand clasping hand, 

And glad hearts beating full and strong ; 
And spirits from the shadow land 

Through memory's golden portal throng, 
To tell us of the days cf yore, 

And bid farewell to Seventy-four. 

The past is vanished like a dream ; 

Before us, viewless to our eyes, 
A silent-flowing, misty stream, 

The dark, uncertain future lies ; 
But peering through the gloom we seem 

To see dim, beckoning forms arise, 
Which hold our destinies in store, 

And greet the class of Seventy-four. 

And now our voices high we raise 

To bid these classic shades adieu, 
Forgetting not the vanished days, 

But pressing onward to the new ; 
Each going in divergent ways, 

But every one remaining true 
To the dear old class of Seventy-four. 

Farewell, farewell, dear Seventy-four. 



CLASS-DAY OFFICERS. 



ORATOR. 

RICHARD HENRY DANA, 3d, Boston. 

POET. 

ERNEST FRANCISCO FENOLLOSA, Salem. 

ODIST. 

GEORGE RIDDLE, Charlestown. 

CHIEF MARSHAL. 

ARTHUR LITHGOW DEVENS, Cambridge. 

ASSISTANT MARSHALS. 

WILLIAM GORDON McMILLAN, New York, N.Y. 
JAMES LAWRENCE, Jr., Boston. 

CLASS DAY COMMITTEE. 

JAMES JACKSON MINOT, West Roxbury. 

ROBERT ALEXANDER SOUTHWORTH, Charlestown. 

WILLIAM ROY ALL TYLER, Brookline. 

IVY ORATOR. 

EDWIN GARRALD MERRIAM, Lawrence. 

CHAPLAIN. 

GEORGE OLIVER GEORGE COALE, Boston. 

CHORISTER. 

ARTHUR WILLIAM FOOTE, Salem. 
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